


First Session

by ksrandomme



Series: Educating Sherlock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Canon Divergence - The Sign of Three, Dom John Watson, Gen, John is a Saint, M/M, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Reichenbach, S3 didn't happen, Sensory Deprivation, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sub Sherlock Holmes, Talk of Doms and Subs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 10:56:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10512354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ksrandomme/pseuds/ksrandomme
Summary: How does one cope with failure?For Sherlock, failure was devastating.Sherlock has troubles after the failed case of "The Bloody Guardsman." and turns to John for help he doesn't understand that he wants or needs.





	

He had failed.

Failed. 

Honestly it wasn’t the first time, nor would it be most certainly the last time, but he had failed to find the would-be killer of the guard. If it weren’t for John, the would-be killer would have succeeded and the guard would have been dead, but he - even with all the clues before him - could not find the culprit and so he had no answers for the young guardsman who had barely survived thanks to John's efforts. All he had was questions without answers. And failure.

How does one cope with failure? 

He supposed for some, it might be just a bit of unhappiness. Disliking the fact that they had missed something previously or made an error here or there, but eventually they would get over it and move on. For others it would be no more than a blip on the radar of their lives that they could easily put aside and forget about whatever they had failed. 

For Sherlock, failure was devastating.

John had told him that he would solve it eventually. That there had to be something they had missed. That they would be able to solve it when the killer attempted to strike again, because the killer had failed in his mission as well, so he would want to try again if only to get it right the next time.

Sherlock wasn't exactly comforted by those words of wisdom from John. He did try to get the thought of him failing out of his head, he tried and tried, but no, it wasn't working. Nothing was working. Not even using his Mind Palace worked. There was just too much, too much information, too much data, too many thoughts and fears that clouded his judgement and left his Mind Palace in shambles. He couldn't deal with the chaos and disorganization, it left him feeling inadequate, and somehow alone. He shouldn't feel alone, he knows that he has John and Mrs. Hudson. All he has to do is ask and John or Mrs Hudson would help, the latter with a bit more unnecessary and unwanted commentary, but both would help him with whatever he needs. 

The problem is that he has no idea what kind of help he needs, or how to ask for it.

And that’s what scared him the most.

o-O-o

John’s mobile went off and he checked to see who had called. He was concerned when he saw that it was Mrs. Hudson, and he quickly answered it, “Mrs. H? Is there a problem?”

There shouldn't have been a problem, the last John had seen of Sherlock he'd been sleeping and should have stayed that way for a few hours more. There wasn't a case in days, but it hadn't been long enough for the man to be going crazy from boredom yet. John supposed that Sherlock could have woken earlier than he expected and gotten involved with some of his experiments, maybe one that had not gone optimally and caused an explosion. Or someone could have come calling to entice Sherlock into another case, but none of those should have occasioned their Landlady to call him while he was at work.

Her answer to his question had him frowning, "Oh John, dear, you simply must come home. I fear there is something dreadfully wrong with Sherlock!" John did his best to listen intently for any sounds in the background that sounded like destruction, but there were none. 

"What do you mean? What is he doing that has you so concerned?"

"He's pacing upstairs and muttering incessantly about 'the case' and about 'finding peace'."

John knew of only one thing that Sherlock could mean when he talked about peace, he quickly gathered up his belongings and headed for the door. “Mrs. Hudson, I am on my way!”

o-O-o

In light of past experiences, John took a taxi back to Baker Street and arrived within minutes of having hung up with Mrs. Hudson. He went into 221 and came up on Mrs. Hudson pacing as frantically as her hip would allow. He wrapped an arm around her waist and ushered her back into her flat. “It’s okay, Mrs. H. I’m here now.”

“Oh John, I didn’t know what to do!” Mrs. Hudson waved a hand with a lace kerchief clutched in her frail fingers and dabbed at one eye. “John, what’s this case he’s going on about? Didn’t he just finish a big case two days ago?”

John nodded, “Yeah… and he should have been sleeping for at least another few hours. I’ll go up and figure this out.”

Leaving Mrs. Hudson in her flat, John left and climbed up to the sitting room.There he found Sherlock pacing the floor with his hands against his head - occasionally yanking at his own hair - and muttering. Into the kitchen, around the table, back into the sitting room and up to the desk before turning and doing it all over again. He didn't seem to be seeing anything, his focus wasn't external but focussed more internally. John gently intercepted Sherlock on one of his circuits and took him by the shoulders. He turned Sherlock until they were face to face. “Sherlock, hey. Come on now, look at me.”

Slowly Sherlock's beautiful mercurial eyes met John's and eventually focused on his flatmate. His voice rose just enough to be fully heard by John as he said, “Oh! Hello, John. When did you get home?”

Any other time John would have been pleased that Sherlock had recognized John was supposed to be gone, but this was something else. Something about Sherlock’s voice made him nervous. “Yeah, I just got back. How are you? I wasn’t expecting you awake for a few hours yet.” He walked over and sat in his normal red armchair, removing his boots and relaxing back into the plush upholstery. He glanced over Sherlock with a critical eye and catalogued the list of things he saw that weren’t right. There were a few and what he saw decided it for him, he wasn't going anywhere again tonight. He decided to deposit his boots in his room as was his habit when he was staying in, hoping that Sherlock seeing normal “no date tonight” habits would be reassuring, as Sherlock's typically cavalier attitude wasn't in evidence.

It wasn't the pacing that had John worried, that was something that Sherlock often did when deep in thought or just bored. No what really had John concerned was the muttering, the unseeing glazed eyes, and the hair pulling; things that Sherlock had never done in John's presence before ever. Sherlock didn't mutter, and he mocked mercilessly others when they did. He did roar, yell, and speak condescendingly, but he never muttered. He'd been educated at Eton and Cambridge and had internalized that you always spoke precisely and clearly at all times. John thought on the glazed eyes and hair pulling as he stood and began to walk towards his room to put his boots away. “I’m just going to put these away and then we can talk about what’s got you so agitated, okay?”

While he climbed the stairs to the top floor bedroom, he was surprised to feel the presence of his flatmate following him upwards, never straying far from John as if he was a lost lamb. John used the short journey to take in other things that he hadn't really noticed before; how Sherlock had to yank his fingers out of where they had been entangled in his own hair, how his eyes had that watery appearance of someone who was fighting off tears. How he shuffled rather than strode in John's wake, all these things that let John know that Sherlock was seriously off balance and that he didn't know how to cope with whatever it was that had set him on this destructive path.

John let himself into his room and Sherlock crowded in behind him as if he was making sure that John couldn't shut him out, not that he was likely to succeed in keeping Sherlock from entering his room any time he wanted. The man could just pick the lock, easily. He’d done it before, after all. John turned towards the wardrobe and placed his boots at the bottom of it, closing the doors and turning back to Sherlock. He took the man’s hands and led him over to the bed, urging him gently to sit on the end before stepping over to his desk and retrieving the straight backed chair that he sometimes used when he was blogging, without Sherlock hanging over his shoulder as sometimes that was the only way to finish an entry. He picked the chair up and placed it in front of the now seated Sherlock, then sat himself in it to face his friend and coax him into explaining himself.

“Right now. What’s got you in such a state, eh? You’ve frightened poor Mrs. Hudson downstairs.” John ducked to catch Sherlock’s eyes again and pressed a bit more, “Talk to me?”

Sherlock nodded, then shook his head in confusion before muttering, "It's too much." John saw the exact moment Sherlock slipped inside his own head again as his eyes glazed while his focus slipped inwards. Shit, not what he meant to do. 

John reached out and gripped Sherlock's neck and all the trembling and rapid eye blinking ceased as Sherlock acted like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Again, shit. He just wasn't on his game today was he? John lightened up the amount of pressure he was using on Sherlock's neck until he saw that Sherlock was back to his own rather odd version of normal. Well almost his version of normal at any rate John thought with some amusement as Sherlock hummed a kind of sensual purr that made John's pants feel a bit snugger in fit. "Right, now that you are feeling a bit better, let's try this again - what's got you in such a state?"

“The Guard. How was he attacked? WHY was he attacked? Why did he feel the need to come to me, to us?” Sherlock slurred a bit as he spoke but was much more himself, but then he continued and got more and more agitated as he did, "My Mind Palace John, it's like Humpty Dumpty. I can't fix it. Humpty Dumpty, can't put it back together again. Every time I try it just falls down-" 

John increased the pressure again as he nodded, going along and listening intently, before Sherlock began to drift away a bit, suddenly so relaxed and calm at the increase in pressure and then John began to ease back again, smiling faintly as he realized it was like Sherlock tuning his violin before playing a concerto. Eventually he brought Sherlock back to a facsimile of normal again and asked, “What brought this on?” He paused before changing tracks, “You know, nevermind that. Let’s see if we can just get you back on track. That Mind Palace of yours needs fixing, so what do you normally do to rectify the situation?”

“Cocaine.” Sherlock replied instantly. John frowned.

“Well, that’s out, yeah?” John looked around and focused on his wardrobe in an effort to tamp down the flash feeling of anger and impotent rage at not having been here for his friend when he clearly needed him most. Once he felt he had a handle on it, he refocused on Sherlock, John asked more questions to tease out the best way to help his friend. “What exactly does the cocaine do for you? How much do you normally use? How often did you use it?” 

Sherlock shrugged, not exactly to shake off John’s hand, just expressing his uncertainty before answering. “It was a 7% solution of cocaine hydrochloride. At first I used it quite often, early days. I thank Wilkes for that.”

John almost asked, but let it go to allow Sherlock to continue uninterrupted. He would have to run this by Mycroft later on. If Sebastian Wilkes was the cause of Sherlock’s introduction to drugs, John might have to kill the banker.

“Later,” Sherlock continued, unaware of John’s tumultuous emotions flitting through his mind. “I began to taper off the drugs, only using them when I studied. When I ran into Lestrade at a crime scene, I deduced in under a minute several clues that would help Lestrade find the murderer. He scoffed at me, sent me packing, threatened to haul me in for drug use. He found me two days later, threatened me with incarceration if I didn’t cut out the drugs, offered to call me in on the difficult cases as long as I got clean. It took some time, but I persevered.”

John realized that Sherlock was winding down, so he sifted through all the questions that he *wanted* to ask, only dragging out the pertinent ones for this session. “What does it give you?”

Sherlock thought for a time before answering, “It gives me peace and quiet for a while. It clears my head and opens a path to my mind palace that I can navigate towards and avoid all the clutter. It quiets my nerves. Colors are muted, sounds are dimmed. It makes my blood sing and my body soar!”

This last was spoken slightly louder and more animated than the rest and John couldn’t help but grin at the words. “That’s why some people like to be Subs. Doms have several ways of taking a Sub out of their head, playing with their bodies and eventually putting them back together, more relaxed and at peace than before.”

He went silent then, watching Sherlock carefully for signs of the other man shutting him out. Instead, Sherlock looked up at John, his eyes pleading as he spoke, “Do this for me, John? Take me out of my head, put me back together? You can do it, I know you can!”

John held up his free hand while he kept the other anchored firmly on Sherlock's neck, “Hang on there, Sherlock. Not so fast, we can’t just jump into this willy-nilly! We need to talk through some things, make up rules, find your limits…”

Sherlock leveled a faint glare at him, although the strength of that glare had the power of a wet kitten. John grasped Sherlock’s hand with his free one and said, “Fine, let’s see what I can do without going to deep. How about we try some sensory deprivation?”

Sherlock looked up at John with such hopeful eyes that John couldn’t deny him. He glanced around at what he had and grinned as some things popped out at him instantly. “Wait here,” he ordered Sherlock as he rose from the chair and moved it out of the way. 

His headphones were on the desk and he picked them up, placing them on the bed next to Sherlock. The Detective glanced down at them, frowning a moment before he understood where John was going with this. Next John walked over to his wardrobe and rustled through the hamper he kept there for his laundry. He quickly found his oatmeal jumper that Sherlock actually found nice compared to some of his other wardrobe. Stepping back to the bed, he smiled softly as he encouraged Sherlock to move back a bit more on the bed for stability. 

“Okay, let’s start with touch. Take your shirt off.” John ordered. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but did as told. Once he had pulled it off, John traded it for the jumper and motioned for him to put it on. Sherlock did and John watched as he ran his fingers up and down the worn threads of one of John’s favorite pieces of clothing. John smiled again and took his own red button down off, leaving him in his jeans and a white vest underneath. 

John knelt up on the bed next to Sherlock and helped him settle back, laying his head against the pillows and laying the body of his shirt over Sherlock’s face. While he worked, he began to talk calmly and clearly. "This old jumper of mine is one of your favourites isn't it? Sinfully soft, feels good against your bare skin, yeah?" Sherlock nodded with a happy little hum escaping him as John petted him and the jumper at the same time. Then John picked up the shirt he'd just taken off and explained, "I'm going to use this as a blindfold and as I've been wearing this shirt all day and it's nice and saturated with my scent so all you'll get to smell is me."

Sherlock hummed again as John settled the shirt over his eyes and under his nose. He left Sherlock’s mouth clear for his other plans, and then picked up the headphones. “I figure you’ve already deduced the use of the headphones, so I’ll just settle these over your ears to cut sound. All you will have then is your sense of taste, and I have plans for that. Now before I set these on, if you feel uncomfortable at all I want you to tell me by using the stoplight system. Red if you want to stop everything, yellow if you are unsure and want me to ease off. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Sherlock answered but then asked, “What if things are going well?”

John smiled as he replied, "Then you say green, it means that you are happy and want to continue." He sobered and continued in a low measured voice, "Now Sherlock, you used cocaine in the past to help you reach your mind palace, to help you block everything out so that you could do what you needed to do, to find your 'peace', right?" Sherlock made an agreeing sound. "I am now your cocaine, I am your block to the real world, I am your 'peace'; breathe in and smell only me, open your eyes and there is nothing to see but my shirt, move and feel my sinfully soft embrace, my headphones will keep sound muffled. I am all you need. Do you understand?"

Sherlock smiled from under the shirt and said, “I understand, John. Just let it go where it wants and eventually I should settle.”

John picked up Sherlock’s right hand and squeezed before saying, “Yeah. That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

Sherlock squeezed back and took a deep breath in through his nose, beginning to take in John’s scents and wriggling just a bit to make the jumper slide against his bare flesh. John placed the headphones around his ears to shut out that last bit of stimuli, leaving only his mouth exposed.

o-O-o

Once the headphones were over his ears, Sherlock was alone. For a moment he felt panic, but then John squeezed his hand again and Sherlock felt comforted in the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. John was there, John would keep him safe. All at once Sherlock began to understand what John’s role as a Dom was all about. It was a natural progression for John to go from caretaker as a teenager, to doctor and soldier in the field, to dominate in the bedroom or sex life. Always caring for those he loves, always watching over those in his charge.

Sherlock took another breath in through his nose and he was flooded with John’s spicy scent. He detected tea and a woodsy scent that could have been his deodorant or the soap he used in his shower this morning. When he opened his eyes, the weave in the fabric of the red shirt was so tight that it blocked out most of the light, and all of the room, so nothing could distract him. 

John’s jumper was soft, as he said, and Sherlock felt comforted in the oversized piece of John. He almost felt as if John were giving him a big hug, arms wrapped loosely around his shoulders and back. The sleeves were stretched out and long enough for Sherlock to tuck his hands in, adding to his tactile stimulus and shutting out the chill that was in the air. 

Sherlock felt his lips turn up in a faint smile. There was a slight pinch to his right hand, John asking if he was okay, and even though it sounded muffled to him, he replied calmly, “Green,” before relaxing back into the bed. He then felt the bed shake and the dip on his left side that he deduced meant that John was laying beside him on the bed.  
Sherlock licked his lips quickly and was reminded that John hadn’t taken his sense of taste away from him yet. He idly wondered what he would do for that and then felt something at his lips. It brushed briefly along his bottom lip, arched along his upper lip and then settled over the seam of both lips and waited. Sherlock tried to deduce from the feel what it might be and couldn’t come up with an answer. He cautiously opened his mouth and touched the mysterious thing with his tongue. Taste exploded in his mouth as he recognized human skin along his tongue, and he involuntarily sucked in John’s finger, running his tongue along the side of it and savoring it. 

God, how had he gone this long without this taste? It was unique and warm and delicious to Sherlock’s taste buds after everything else had tasted like sand. He hadn’t eaten today so his mouth was a bit dry, but nibbling and sucking on John’s fingers brought the saliva out in his mouth. John’s fingers were the final pin in the lock of Sherlock’s mind. Everything was John. On him, in him, and beyond him. And it was at that point that Sherlock let go of everything else. He had John, he needed nothing else in this world.

o-O-o

John recognized the moment that Sherlock had found his peace. It was a subtle change, at first. The relaxing of muscles along his arms and legs, the steady slowing of his breath, the pulse at his wrist slowing to a normal cadence, all these things John was able to read like a medical chart and within moments he relaxed as well. Sherlock was settling like John wanted, so he waited a bit longer. He had to time it just right to take the next step in this process. He pinched Sherlock’s hand lightly and waited for an answer from the other man, smiling when all he got was a slightly slurred, “Green.”

Now that Sherlock was in a more calmer state, John removed the headphones and leaned in to whisper in Sherlock’s ear as he slipped a hand under his neck to that pressure point that seemed to be the best spot for controlling Sherlock’s submissive space. He squeezed gently once as he called softly in Sherlock’s ear.

“Sherlock, I want you to tell me what you see now when you look for your Mind Palace.” He figured this would be the best way to start with Sherlock, and it yielded good results when Sherlock began to reply.

“I usually find some hallway with labels for all of the categories of information. I might see stray thoughts of information floating about the hallway and I have to put them back in their doors.” Sherlock sighed and John thought for a moment before asking his next question.

“And what did you see before we started our session?”

Sherlock trembled as he answered, “Chaos. All the doors were opened, off their hinges even. Thoughts are fluttering around the ground and in the air like papers from file folders, scattered over the floor and in my path. The wind is rushing everywhere and I have to cover my eyes to keep things from blinding me when it hits me in the face.”

Now that he had an image of what Sherlock was seeing, John could lead Sherlock back to a clear path. “Sherlock, I want you to take a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth. With each breath in, I want you to imagine taking the wind away from the hallway. Wth each breath out, I want you to imagine that the pages are settling on the floor and not swirling anymore. When you have that peace in the hallway I want you to let me know by using your safeword for the good setting. Can you do this for me, Sherlock?”

Yes, it was like a guided meditation, but it should work if Sherlock was open to the concept and did the work. With bated breath, John watched for signs of distress in his friend.

o-O-o

Sherlock thought about what John was asking him to do. It seemed like some ridiculous exercises that John’s old therapist would make up, but John was the one asking and Sherlock trusted John. With his first indrawn breath, Sherlock was flooded yet again with the spicy scent of John. He closed his eyes and pictured himself in the hallway with the flying, fluttering papers and the dust whipping past the door that slammed on their hinges and caused such a cacophony of noise.

Another breath in and Sherlock tried to imagine the wind around him calming, but he was having difficulty achieving the goal. He blew out his breath in frustration and felt John’s hand squeeze the back of his neck, massaging the tense nerves and reminding him to relax, that John had him safely tucked in and cared for. Sherlock pulled in another breath, this time placing John in the hallway with him. Mind Palace John stood next to Sherlock and took his hand, squeezing it gently and reminding him that this was fine, everything was fine.

On the fourth breath, Sherlock felt the tension ease and the wind began to fade. He couldn’t help but smile as he blew out his breath calmly and watched the doors all still and settle, the noise clattering down to whispers. With another breath in, the papers floated up in the air, too many of them to count. But Sherlock wasn’t worried about the number, all he had to do for now was to corral them in their personal spaces. With his next breath out, the papers fluttered and scattered to their various sub doors, which he then closed with a wave of his hand.

Mind Palace John smiled at him, encouraging him to continue. He drew in another breath and blew away all the dust and grit from the hallway, leaving it pristine once again. Now that the main hallway was clear, he could relax and take a step back. Stepping back from his Mind Palace space, Sherlock looked back up at the red weave of John’s shirt and felt a smile slip onto his lips as he said, quietly, “Green.”

o-O-o

John grinned as he relaxed his grip slightly on Sherlock’s neck. He ran a hand down Sherlock’s arm and felt all the tension had been released. His breath was steady and his body was calm, no tremors or high pulse. “Okay, now that you are more calm, you need some rest. I thought you were out all this time, but now I’m pretty sure you haven’t even closed your eyes since we got home last night, have you?”

Sherlock shrugged, which John took to mean he didn’t want to talk about that. “Well tough shit, my friend. You need rest, so we are going to take a nice, long nap. Starting with your breathing again, I want you to take a moment and tighten a group of muscles just a bit, and then release those muscles with your outward breath. Start at your toes, work up to your head, and when you’ve relaxed all of the muscles in your body you let me know. Okay?”

Sherlock said nothing, but John could tell he was doing as asked because his breaths began again as before. Firm breath in through his nose, a moment of holding it and then an even release of his breath. He also began to curl his toes, then tightened up his calves. John knew that he was following orders to the letter and he was glad for it. With each breath and each muscle group releasing, John could tell that Sherlock was slipping further and further along the path to sleep. Somewhere around his left arm, Sherlock simply stopped. He was still breathing, but his muscles had suddenly released all tension and his breathing had become regular. 

John chuckled and released his hold on Sherlock’s arm, sliding down until they were level with each other and he could slip his arms around Sherlock’s rail thin body. Sharing the same pillow, John pressed his nose into the back of Sherlock’s curls and, after a moment of deep breathing, followed his friend into sleep.

o-O-o

Sherlock didn’t know what had awakened him, but he knew he had been asleep for quite some time. When he opened his eyes, he looked down to find himself still in John’s sweater, and the red shirt John had used to ‘blindfold’ him had slipped off his face so he could see all around himself. That’s when he noticed John’s arm wrapped around his waist.

Sitting up carefully, Sherlock looked around behind himself to find John still asleep, drooling on the pillow. Checking the clock by the bedside, Sherlock learned that they had been asleep for at least 2 hours, which he figured should be sufficient nap time for the both of them. Plus he was suddenly ravenously hungry. 

“John, while I appreciate your help during my time of need, is it necessary for us to… Cuddle? Afterwards?” Sherlock remarked drily, which worked to wake John from his slumber and cause him to frown just a bit.

“Yes, Sherlock. It was necessary for me. You aren’t the only one who gets something out of the exercise. Hungry?” John was not angry, per se. Just very annoyed, which Sherlock could work with. The shorter man climbed out of the bed, reached out to snag his red shirt and began putting it back on. Sherlock looked down at the oatmeal sweater he was still wearing and, reluctantly, removed it over his head and reached for his own shirt that had fallen to the floor.

Before John could make it to the first floor landing, where the take-away menus were tucked into one of the kitchen drawers, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Hudson stepped out of her flat downstairs and opened it to find a very distraught young woman, who appeared to be a nurse, judging by the uniform she wore under the burgundy cardigan. Sherlock felt suddenly wide awake and alert, rushed down past John, and escorted the woman upstairs to their sitting room and into a chair.

o-O-o

Talking a mile a minute, Sherlock began to listen to her case and thus the next adventure was on. When Sherlock made the connection from this woman to the near dead Guardsman, John was suitably amazed, and said so. He was also amazed when he and Sherlock were able to save the life of a most admired commanding officer from John’s days in the war. Major Sholto was only in town to attend a distant niece’s wedding, but in actuality the invitation had come from the “Mayfly Man”, a photographer out to kill the Major in such a way as to have a solid alibi during Sholto’s death.

As John and Sherlock returned home that evening, John wondered if they would have a repeat of Sherlock’s earlier behaviour, but then he realised that Sherlock had been out of sorts because of the trail going cold from earlier. As suspected, Sherlock simply entered their flat, took off his coat and scarf (which he put on the hook by the door) and then marched off to bed with an admonishment for John not to wake him until at least noon tomorrow.

John breathed a sigh of relief and sat in his chair by the fireplace. Sherlock was Sherlock again, and John had gotten a little something out of their earlier exchange, too. But something was still nagging at the back of his mind. When he felt the long fingers of Sherlock’s hand caress his shoulder, John looked up at his flatmate in bewilderment.

“I get it now, John. I’m sorry I was being slow, very unlike me really. Thank you for what you did up there,” he jerked his head towards the upper stairs in an indication of John’s room. “It worked better than cocaine.”

John grinned as he reached up a hand to pat Sherlock’s. “Any time, Sherlock. All you have to do is ask.”

Sherlock nodded and made to turn back to his room, stopping midway to say, “The same goes for you, as well, you know?”

John sat speechless for a moment and Sherlock turned back to his bedroom for his much needed sleep. 

~end~


End file.
